


in the darkness, two shadows

by hanyauku



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Dystopian!AU, M/M, love is illegal essentially
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyauku/pseuds/hanyauku
Summary: In which love is prohibited, but Minhyuk discovers some rules were always meant to be broken.





	in the darkness, two shadows

Minhyuk’s lips graze over the smooth skin of the pear in his hand as he hunches over on the counter, the wood of the stool beneath him digging into his thighs. It’s cold outside–cool, grey November skies–but the air conditioner above him continues to whir relentlessly, his body folding in on itself. 

The clock on the wall ticks by slowly – slower than usual, it seems, the big hand sluggishly chasing it’s counterpart– achingly near closing time.

From where he’s sitting, the fly looks like its body is severed from its head. Minhyuk notices this distantly, the way you notice your mother is beautiful when she laughs, or light is multiple layered colors.

Distantly.

The bell at the entrance rings and Minhyuk startles, eyes flashing up in time to meet the gaze of a young woman whose expression is uneasy.

Minhyuk offers her a smile as she scurries towards the shelves that line the back walls, disappearing behind stacks of books. 

He bites into the apple, the sweet taste flooding his senses as he doodles squiggles into the dust that has accumulated on the counter.

It’s pointless to wonder why people act skittish these days–it’s the norm. 

The woman reappears a few minutes later, face beet red as she clunks a book down onto the counter, refusing to make eye contact.

It’s a romance novel, a pink cover with flowery font spelling out a cheesy title. Minhyuk glances back up at her as he scans the barcode, watching as she grows even more restless, twiddling with her fingers and gnawing at her lower lip. 

It’s sad–romance novels aren’t really banned, just. . . frowned upon. They government can’t exactly pack up every edition of every romance novel in existence. Instead, they warn the public of the superficial temptation the words provide, of empty hope and hollow feelings.

Minhyuk knows that isn’t true, though. Working in a bookstore for the past five years has its influences, and if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that words are never empty. He knows of the look in people’s eyes when they 

Minhyuk carefully wraps the book in brown paper and hands it to her, along with her change, cradling the novel. 

Anything related to the past seems precious these days.

The sympathetic smile he offers goes unnoticed as she rips it out of his hand and scuttles out the door. The bell above the door rings in the vast emptiness and Minhyuk sighs, returning to his apple as his eyes train themselves to the clock, counting every ticking second.

He waits as the seconds go by: one, two ,three, four, five, six, seven, eight– _fuck it._

Minhyuk tosses the apple core into the wastebasket by the counter and walks home under a sky bruised purple and orange.

/

Minhyuk’s shoulders sag with relief as he pushes the door open, blood rushing back to his fingers as he drops the bags of groceries in his arms to the floor. He sighs, dropping back to lay on his couch, fingers lacing together to crack his knuckles.

The woman in the shop lingers in his thoughts, sneaking into the crevices of his mind. He remembers a time when people weren’t so afraid of everything, so closed off and anxious about every little thing. Although that was before Article Fifty-Seven.

He remembers hearing it for the first time as his radio crackled, whirring as the clipped words shot out from the machine.

_“Love is hereby declared an obsolete concept, null and void in the eyes of the law.”_

The news articles were next, filling every corner of every magazine, every newspaper. 

Love is forbidden.

Minhyuk crooks an arm behind his head, digging the pads of his fingers into his head as he stares at the pages he has tacked onto his ceiling, like little capillaries spidering over his head. The pages are worn around the edges, a faded yellow that curls down, as if they’re reaching directly for Minhyuk.

He found them tossed behind the dumpster the day after Article Fifty-Seven was announced, a dark rainy day, stuffed into a cardboard box, most of the pages torn beyond recognition. Minhyuk had dragged them up the stairs, into his living room where he carefully sat on the floor blow drying each and every single page with only the sound of thunder and lightning to keep him company.

He wonders why people would do that, why they would sully the soft, creamy pages and the deliberate words and the sheer emotion built into the pages. Maybe it’s the conformist within. Maybe it’s just boredom. Maybe there’s solace to be found in the destruction of the inflexible rigidity of typed, inked words.

And it’s for that reason that Minhyuk has them pinned to his ceiling. The idea that these words exist despite the careful efforts that were taken to destroy them, that even if the world were to end, they might still exist under the stench of bloodied hearts and dead skies.

 _No_ , Minhyuk assures himself, shaking himself out of his daydream. _They won’t take away his books yet._ They’re more of a warning sign to most people, rather than an inspiration–like a neon red flashing sign that screams _DANGER DANGER DANGER_. They’re historical, too, a reference point for what shouldn’t be done, taught in schools as a glorification of an inane concept used to dilute and simplify the minds of the general public.

Still. Minhyuk revels in the thrill that rushes down his spine when he looks up and catches sudden glimpses of quotes hanging above his head, words from books that were once praised as classics.

He even has some of them memorized, eyes scanning over them while he mouths the words to himself, as if a reminder.

It takes a few minutes for Minhyuk to tear his eyes away from his collage, sitting up with a heavy groan. Spots dance across his vision when he rises, slowly walking to his worn home collection. Minhyuk’s fingers dance across the spines of the books, skimming past the thick encyclopedia and the bulky dictionary, over the histories, the old sci-fi stories. 

It takes him a moment to find the ones he’s searching for, pulling back a row of fantasy novels to find the stack of old, worn-down romance books. Minhyuk thumbs along the brittle pages, his hair falling over his eyes as he stares at the shabby, plain covers.

His hands shake in contained excitement as he pulls an unsuspecting book from the stack, _The First Rose_ , carefully adjusting his shelf again to hide the rest.

In a few swift, Minhyuk has the book placed unceremoniously on his mattress. Shower first. Read later.

The water is boiling hot when it hits Minhyuk’s back, almost stinging against his icy skin. He can practically hear the loosening muscles in his back, relishing in the exquisite burn that leaves hints long after it passes over his skin. It’s like the goosebumps erupting over his skin serve as a reminder that he can still _feel_ things.

Pulling open the shower curtain to wrap a towel loosely around his hips, Minhyuk realizes just how _exhausted_ he is, his body practically sagging. He swipes his hand over the fogged up mirror, leaning in to stare at the skin peeling on the tip of his nose, irritated from the cold he recently recovered from, eyes sunken in from restless sleep, and the little mole poking out innocently from just below his sideburn.

It takes a few short paces for Minhyuk’s back to find his bed, sinking briefly into the duvet. He takes in a deep, loud breath, his lungs tightening to drag in any air. For a moment, he feels like he’s trapped in a plastic bag, suffocating slowly as he paws underneath his towel-clad frame in search of the book.

The moment passes just as Minhyuk’s hands meet the flimsy, worn cover. 

He pops the book open, sitting up so he can stick his feet under the covers and prop the pages open across his bent knees. Minhyuk devours the book like a man starving, hungrily and without care. 

He traces his hands up and down the spine restlessly, falling onto his back to hold it inches away from his face, rolling onto his front to rest on his elbows, practically knocking his sheets off the bed in his process.

He absorbs the literature. He rediscovers romance and love. 

He’s sufficiently unimpressed.

Some people, it is reported, rallied against the new regime, fighting, killing, dying. Screamed outside the cold white walls of their government, as if they were actually listened to–not just heard. A few days after the initial protests, however, most people slowly fell into line with the new ways, like a long forgotten habit or a smooth suit.

Some still gathered quietly in narrow, dark warehouses, or in the warm, wet shacks by the docks, muttering quietly about their dissent and hiding their defiance for Article Fifty-Seven in their hearts. Others adopted the new legislation like a second religion, vowing to live by the new decree. But as most things go, the majority waded through a grey area, hanging halfway over the border.

Minhyuk falls among the majority. He’s always found it easier to be a conformist, not too extreme or too lukewarm, walking at a far distance from the line. Minhyuk could easily be the perfect model citizen, only hesitating occasionally to linger on a wisp of–something he can’t quite put his finger on yet. Regret? Awe? Academic curiosity?

His toes turn to ice under his covers by the time he gets changed into a pair of sweats and a loose tee, propping the book open on his chest to try and absorb the now-foreign concept of love.

He falls asleep like that, his hands falling limp and the open book falling flat on his chest.

/

It’s even colder the next morning, Minhyuk’s nose buried deep into his scarf, shivering despite the thick sweater and padded jacket he’s wearing. He trudges his way down the sidewalk quietly, eyes downcast and focusing on the way his feet leave imprints in the dirty snow piled haphazardly along the edges of the path.

When he finally makes it through the doorway, he finds Changkyun inside, twiddling with the radiator.

Changkyun works at the bookstore with Minhyuk a few times a week, usually five days, and while his job requirements only include being at the register and helping any inquisitive customers, Changkyun has always been a bit of a perfectionist, so he’ll do anything he thinks needs to be done.

“Fuck, it’s _freezing_ in here,” Changkyun huffs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other twisting the screws of the radiator with a wrench. 

Minhyuk can only sigh in agreement, shrugging his coat off to hang on the coat rack near the counter. He’d slept badly last night, plagued by exceedingly visceral nightmares that chose to shake him up and down as he’d shivered away in his tiny room.

For some unknown reason, he has _The First Rose_ jammed deep into his bag, under his lunch, balancing dangerously on the precipice of suspicion. It’s a decision that lacks the rationality Minhyuk tries to maintain in his life, especially because working at a bookstore entails a well-kept stock of novels, just a few feet away. And it’s not like he has much time to read it anyway, considering it’s Saturday and he knows that’s when they’re busiest. 

But there’s something about knowing he has the book that makes his skin heat up with a tingle. Maybe because it’s the first time he’s ever done something so rebellious in his life, despite the fact that it’s completely legal. Maybe that explains the feeling that overtakes his body like a virus, questioning, missing, a kind of longing. Something foreign.

Changkyun doesn’t notice Minhyuk pulling the book out of his bag to slip it under the counter, ready to read it for a few shifts, but when he looks up, he spots a lone customer looking in his direction. Minhyuk flushes a deep red in poorly concealed fear, his breath hitching in his throat and his head beginning to thump.

The man doesn’t raise his eyebrows or anything, and it takes Minhyuk a moment to realize he’s just staring at the television stuck above the counter, a low hum of the weather and traffic conditions.

Then, he looks away without so much as a glance at Minhyuk before continuing to peruse the stacks, for which Minhyuk couldn’t be more grateful for. He exhales loudly, massaging his temples and shivering in the freezing store.

/

Lunch is fairly mundane with them.

Minhyuk brings his standard grilled chicken sandwich with a small can of some japanese cola that he’s been hooked on since college, the hallmark of routine.

Changkyun lives his life haphazardly, and the same goes for his food. Today it’s that convenience store sushi that Minhyuk finds suspicious, paired with a bottle of iced tea.

“Hey Minhyuk hyung.”

“Hm?” Minhyuk stares down at the table, absentmindedly taking small bites of his lunch.

“Do you . . . do you ever–nevermind forget it. It’s stupid.”

Minhyuk looks up at that, setting his sandwich down. “What?”

Changkyun pops another piece of sushi into his mouth, soy sauce dripping off his lower lip. He looks so stupid, Minhyuk has the urge to laugh and cry at once. 

“I guess I was just wondering if . . . “ Changkyun cocks his head to the side and looks around furtively, before leaning down to whisper into Minhyuk’s ear. “D’you ever wonder what it’s like?”

Minhyuk pulls away to look up at Changkyun’s face in confusion, eyes squinted and nose scrunched.

“ _Love_.”

Ah. It would appear that Minhyuk has found himself at a crossroads. He can turn in Changkyun to _them_ for traitorous thoughts, for which the boy would probably only get a warning. Minhyuk though . . . Minhyuk would probably be rewarded with a position alongside _them_ . Or he can throw away every cautionary thought in his mind and crumble before Changkyun, spilling the stupid romance novels he’s been reading and the somewhat-there feeling lodged in his chest and the _longing_.

He opts for neither extreme, as usual.

Minhyuk cocks his head to the side and gives Changkyun a blocky, wooden grin. “Have you considered the Matching?”

The Matching was instituted a few months into President Jang’s term, a replacement for the prior law of mandatory military conscription. Without love, there was no war, and without war, there was no need for a military. While The Matching was still obligatory for those between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, the law was expanded to encapsulate all genders.

Changkyun deflates like a punctured balloon and Minhyuk tries to convince himself his friend’s smile isn’t painted on like a thick layer of makeup.

The Matching is meant to be a sort of fog that the people should be grateful for, a distraction from the temptation of love. It’s meant to provide companionship, security, and sexual release in lieu of romance. 

Minhyuk thinks that was once what love was like for some people.

Changkyun looks down and pokes at a slice of pickled ginger. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Maybe I’ll do that.” Minhyuk hates how soft his voice has gotten, like it’s smothered under a whirlwind.

“So when’s the next one?” Minhyuk says, forcing brightness into his voice and waggling his eyebrows.

Changkyun sets down his chopsticks to pick his phone up off the table carefully tapping on his phone’s calendar.

“Next week, on the fifteenth” he hums, eyes flicking up to look at Minhyuk. “You in?”

Minhyuk’s breath catches in his throat and his heart stops for a moment, but he considers it a small glitch. His forced smile doesn’t waver as he considers it. The Matching would happen sooner or later, but he’s faced with the return of that same jitteriness in his chest and the longing that settles deep in his gut.

“Can I, uh,” his mouth feels dry, so he takes a sip of his cola, raising a finger to signal a pause to Changkyun. Minhyuk gulps in the cola greedily, welcoming the tingle on his taste buds, before he sets the drink down and folds his shaking hands neatly before him on the table. He takes a breath. “Can I think about it?”

Changkyun raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, for which Minhyuk is grateful, before nodding. “Yeah . . . yeah okay.”

It’s easier to convince Changkyun than it is himself, shrouded in a burning ache that has a clouded target. Getting himself to the edge of the cliff is the difficult part–it’s the jumping off that’s easy.

So Minhyuk chooses to close his eyes and rush to the edge of the cliff, letting himself freefall.

He approaches Changkyun when they’re locking up for the day, his fingers curled tightly around _The First Rose_ tucked inside his jacket.

“Hey, Changkyun?” Minhyuk murmurs, tapping his friend on the shoulder and swallowing the fear in his throat that curls around his esophagus.

Changkyun merely quirks an eyebrow in response, his face concentrated on organizing the books back onto the shelves.

Minhyuk takes a deep breath and lets his heart dive. 

“I’m in.”

/

He and Changkyun arrive at the building at 8:53 am. Minhyuk isn’t sure how to describe the venue. It may have once been a military fort, but now the walls stare blankly back at him, and try as he might, Minhyuk can’t bring himself to imagine the building in its former state, filled with sounds and laughter and _life_.

A petite young clerk checks them in, quickly finding their names on the database. Minhyuk watches her ponytail bobbing with every clack of the keys, almost hypnotized by its swaying. It’s warm in the venue, the heat on full blast, so Minhyuk knows the goosebumps across Changkyun’s skin is because of the clerk–not because of the temperature. Sexual attraction is still frequent nowadays, no longer thought of as a stepping stone to love but a normal, physical function. Still permitted, which is lucky for Changkyun as he side-eyes the clerk’s chest when she bends over the printer to pull out a set of printed stickers to placed on their chests..

“The Matching will begin at 9:05.” The clerk intones in a nasal voice, hiding her giggle behind her hand as Changkyun winks at her. Pity she’s not up for The Matching herself.

They gather in the large holding room, like cattle for the slaughter..

There’s a hum of whispering around them, but Minhyuk pays no attention to those around him, blocking them out until he only sees coloured dots for faces. It’s simpler that way. He feels his breath rise and stifle in his chest, but he drags in lungfuls of air through his nostrils to keep the dizzying feeling at bay. Just free falling. 

_Just free falling_. 

Minhyuk’s standing right on the edge of the cliff with his toes peeking out over the edge, waiting for a breeze to catch and send him sailing into the abyss below.

The clock hits five past and right on cue, two women and a man step on the stage, smiling woodenly as they clutch their rigid clipboards.

The youngest looking woman begins, simpering heavily. “Welcome to the 167th Matching for the Seoul district! We congratulate you on your superior judgement in choosing Safety Through Matching.”

Minhyuk has always wondered who wrote the speeches for these things, and where they found the thesaurus of rose-tinted words.

The man clears his throat and takes over. “Before the current regime, the world was in disrepair and ruin. The divorce rate was at 43%. Wars wreaked havoc over this nation for misguided ideals of love. When we sanitized this country, we provided safety through Matching. _Safety Through Matching!_ ”

The audience mumbles that familiar catchphrase along with the man and he pauses, letting a smile spread across his face like a dead caterpillar. Minhyuk shivers.

The older woman pushes in. “Article Fifty-Seven,” she reads in a high pitched voice, “decreed that heretofore love is a danger to society. As of the 7th of January, 2098, ‘love has hereby been declared null and void, an obsolete concept which is forbidden and to be replaced by the process of the Matching’. Any citizens found to be experiencing the effects of love will be punished at the discretion of the High Council.”

Minhyuk’s stomach turns as he pictures those words in his mind, printed on thousands of sheets of paper and pinned to his ceiling.

“The Matching,” the man begins again brightly, putting his clipboard down and clipping on a jovial smile, “as you all know, is a voluntary process whereby a citizen will select their life partner. Marriage after The Matching is possible and encouraged, but not mandatory. Without the complications of love, there will be no reason to divorce or find relationship problems. 

“Companionship is permitted and welcomed, as the High Council recognizes the need for communication in these partnerships. Sexual affairs are permitted for enjoyment, but primarily for reproduction and protection of the future of our nation. In the case of same-sex couples, sexual intercourse is permitted but not necessary and reproduction may be pursued through various Birthing Clinics in the area. 

A personality assessment should have been completed prior to this event in order to match temperaments well. Citizens are further reminded of the continuing need to submit to Testing every nine months as a means of preventing the recrudescence of romantic attachment. Congratulations on moving into this new and wonderful phase of your life!”

Loud applause reverberates across Minhyuk’s skin like a painful tattoo as the man finishes. Minhyuk watches the faces of others for the first time, some with maniacal fervour, some bored, some simply fixed into expressions of resignation.

The sticker pasted to Minhyuk’s chest is scanned by another worker, who smiles at him patronizingly and points him in the direction of a group of his potential life partners, penned in like goats on a farm.

He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. There’s ten or so of them there, and Minhyuk is suddenly reminded of the awful process of speed dating before it all happened. Three minutes to find your life partner. 

_Fuck_.

The men look up from their conversations when Minhyuk approaches. Maybe there’s something on his face. Maybe they’re staring at his reddened nose. Maybe they’ve noticed the lopsided eyeliner he smudged on nervously earlier today.

He attempts a smile. It’s mechanical and it hurts his cheeks, so he quickly drops it again.

His eyes skirt around the group. Most people, satisfied with their viewing of the new arrival, go back to their conversations, naturally gravitating into couples. Only one man stands alone and Minhyuk, damn it all, is suddenly overcome with a need to see him, to talk to him, to be alone with him. It’s his solitude that draws Minhyuk to him, the fact that he clearly could be engaging in conversation with someone but he’s somehow choosing not to. The man sets himself apart and Minhyuk finds his interest piqued at the possibility of an outlier.

The man sees him looking and watches with unnerving interest as Minhyuk approaches him, eyebrows raised. Minhyuk’s mouth goes dry and he knots his fingers together in worry behind his back.

“Uh.” Minhyuk starts eloquently, and he thinks he sees a smile pass the man’s careful expression.

“Lee Hoseok.” The stranger says, reaching his large hand out of his pocket to hold out in front of him.

Minhyuk grasps the man’s fingers in a firm handshake that feels businesslike and comforting and so, so odd. He also takes the moment to admire the shape of Hoseok’s arms, staring for longer than one might consider acceptable. “Uh. Lee Minhyuk.”

Hoseok smiles, this time a real smile, branded red-hot in his face and Minhyuk notices how handsome he is without really noticing it at all.

“Time’s ticking.” Hoseok says, combing his hair back with one hand before replacing it in his pocket. For one brief nanosecond, Minhyuk wants to yank his fingers out and lock them together with his hand. He shakes his head. He’s sure the feeling will pass.

“Only one minute left.” Hoseok continues with a small quirk of his lip, staring at Minhyuk in a way that’s just a touch uncomfortable.

Minhyuk swallows. “Yeah. I- what’s your job then, Hoseok?”

Hoseok visibly starts at Minhyuk’s mention of his name before the cool mask of his face falls back into place. 

“I teach kids.”

“Ages?”

“The seven to eight year olds. They’re a handful, but they’re sweet and they make me laugh.” Hoseok says gently, his expression softening into a small smile as his eyes take on a faraway, wistful look. Minhyuk wish he had the time to unpack that.

But then he’s back in the room, focusing back on Minhyuk with laser-like precision. “Do you want kids?”

Minhyuk’s heart stumbles a little at this bold question, but he schools his face into a placid expression. “In the future, definitely.”

Hoseok smiles briefly, an involuntary action almost like a tic and Minhyuk wonders why that little action warms his skin so. “And you? What do you do?”

“I own a bookshop.”

“How cliché.”

“That’s me.” Minhyuk says, smile rolling gently around his lips.

Hoseok nods, face relaxing as he steps closer to Minhyuk. For a second, Minhyuk thinks he can smell the sharp tang of alcohol on his breath and he shies back like a frightened horse.

“Anything else I should know about you before we commit the rest of our lives to each other?” Hoseok asks wryly, and Minhyuk wants to tell him he hasn’t decided and he’s not ready and he can’t change his whole life as a result of a minute of laboured small-talk but the clock is about to chime and all Minhyuk can think is _this could be the best it will ever get_.

So he just smiles and starts to walk towards the nearest clerk, Hoseok following in his wake.

“Nope.” He says briefly as they wait in the queue to register officially as life partners. “You?”

Hoseok suddenly looks so lost and small and thin amongst the bustling crowds of people and again, Minhyuk wants to take his hand. “Nothing important.” Hoseok mumbles as they move forward and he nearly trips over his own feet.

/

The air smells like freezer burn when Minhyuk wakes up. Today is warmer than it has been, and as he peers out of the window, he can see a pillar of smoke snaking into the air behind the tree line. The grey seems to dilute the bright blue of the sky like mixing water with strong paints, and Minhyuk backs away from the window in slow, long steps.

He’s not working for the next week – he’s got to pack up and move. Starting a new life in a new place, they called it. Wanting to find somewhere neutral to begin a life partnership without the confines of familiarity, they said. For Minhyuk, it’s forced relocation, tearing him away from his comfort and his tradition and his delicious solitude.

He tries not to picture the placid face of the clerk as she detailed their new living arrangement: both were to move out of their existing accommodations and live together in one of the new government relocation buildings that loom just at the edges of the city. 

_“Payment is simple_ ,” his mind supplies in her nasal voice, “ _it works much like a student loan. For now, we will buy the apartment for you, and you will pay it back gradually for the rest of your life. We’ll take it from your bank account automatically each month, so you don’t have to consider it any more.”_

He sighs as he stares around the room, wondering where the fuck to start. Granted, his current living space only consists of his crumbling bedroom, a square bathroom and a kitchen big enough for one tiny gas stove, but it’s _his_ and he doesn’t know how he can eradicate it all, just like that.

Minhyuk’s always thought houses were the most efficient sponges: little by little, they absorb your personality like water until they’re choked full of your stories, your laughter, your memories, and you’re a drained vessel. This tiny little apartment has drunk most of his soul up into its cracked walls, until it’s as much of a part of him as his own body.

The first box, all dusty cardboard and cobwebs, is slow to fill as Minhyuk lingers over the details. 

He sneezes. Damn dust.

To hell with it, he decides. He piles the rest of everything into box after box, stripping the room bare of its memories (as much as is possible, anyway). It’s a kind of frenzy, he thinks, when his hands rip through posters and pull out clothes and itch to scratch the paintwork away.

Soon, he’s finished. The energy suddenly rushes out of him and he lies in the fetal position in the centre of his bed in this husk of a home, with boxes piled up in thick walls around him.

Minhyuk lies there until his breathing stabilising and his dizziness subsides. Then, he sits up and shuffles back to the headboard. He wistfully grazes his fingers over the stack of sheets piled at the foot of his bed, the pages he’s taken down from his ceiling. 

It takes him another two hours to fold the sheets and tuck them into unsuspecting books from his collection; but, he decides, in the end, that it will be worth it.

Two days later, he’s piling his boxes into a dirty van and leaving that room of the only things he’s ever known, crumbling into nothingness in the corner.

As he gets in his car and prepares to make the thirteen minute drive to his new home, he sees the door of his old apartment bang open in the wind, showing the dusty corridor upstairs behind it like a glimpse of bones underneath pallid skin.

Minhyuk watches this for a second and then releases the clutch, driving away as early morning sunlight fills up his old home from the bottom upwards.

/

Minhyuk’s new house feels like a hospital.

It’s beautiful, he supposes, with its clean lines and polished furniture, but it carries a clinical edge, like something that’s never been lived in. He supposes it probably hasn’t, but he still dislikes the sterility of the blank walls and brightly coloured chairs around the dining room table. But, like a hotel, it has no feeling of personality or permanence.

Hoseok’s not here yet, Minhyuk notices as he unloads his boxes from the removal van and places them in the elevator to go upstairs. In three trips, everything he needs is upstairs and he’s muttering goodbye to the removal men.

It’s quiet here, he muses as he lets himself in to the apartment with the shiny keys provided to him by reception. Not quite silent – he can still hear the murmurs of other couples from the surrounding apartments like any hotel, and the drip of the tap into the sink – but there’s not quite enough noise to feel comfortable or homely.

The orange chair he sits on is cold. He’s facing the door, waiting for Hoseok’s arrival and wondering if this place will ever feel like home.

A quiet knock at the ajar door pushes it open farther until Minhyuk can see a peep of scuffed boots on the floor. He gets up quickly and pulls the door open in one swift movement just as Hoseok moves forward, their bodies almost colliding in this move.

Minhyuk’s hand on the door tightens as he rights himself, Hoseok taking a step back and nervously chewing at his lip as he attempts a smile that looks as scared as Minhyuk feels.

“Um. Hi.” Hoseok murmurs, hands wrapped around a box, smile dangling carelessly off his lips.

And then that feeling’s back: the wondering, longing, the not-quite-thereness. And Minhyuk doesn’t feel safe.

He looks at Hoseok for a long moment, and Hoseok looks right back. Somehow, he feels naked, vulnerable, laid-out for analysis like a specimen on a doctor’s table.

Minhyuk coughs.

“Need help with those boxes?”

/

By the time they’ve finished unpacking, the light’s seeping from the day and the insects are starting to populate the apartment from the wide-open windows.

It’s not a bad job – it keeps them both too busy for awkward conversations – but Minhyuk’s hungry now and that means actually interacting with his…his what? His husband? (No, it’s not official yet.) His life partner? (That’s probably it.) Or maybe just Hoseok. For now at least, just Hoseok.

“Chinese?” Minhyuk asks when the last box is stacked neatly by the door.

Hoseok furrows his brows. “No, I’m Korean…?” 

Minhyuk stumbles over his words for a good five minutes, trying to amend his mistake before he notices the soft smile on Hoseok’s lips.

So Minhyuk lets him order because he’s tired of thinking, and they both collapse at opposite ends of the sofa in their shockingly white living room with the painful quiet breeding around them.

“You’re not as chatty as you were at Selection.” Minhyuk muses quietly, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Hoseok looks at him sideways, and Minhyuk gets the feeling the other man is debating whether to tell the truth or not. Finally, he quirks his lip.

“No liquid courage today.” He says with a small grimace, putting his hands deep in his pockets. Minhyuk frowns. 

“I’m not an alcoholic if that’s what worries you. I just, um, I’m pretty shy. I don’t always like talking to new people.”

“Me neither.” Minhyuk says softly, gathering his knees to his chest and hugging them. “So you don’t have to worry about it with me.”

“Oh.” Hoseok replies, looking stupidly happy, and the next twenty minutes waiting for the food to arrive are spent in contented silence.

/

They finish their food quietly in front of the TV after that. The day’s heat swathes the room with that kind of sleepy, gentle warmth only possible in the long months of summer, and Minhyuk watches Hoseok fall asleep.

It’s not exactly a conscious decision: at no point does he tell his brain to stare at this man with drooping eyelids on the end of his sofa. But at some point (he doesn’t know when) he stops watching the screen and starts watching the way Hoseok shifts in his sleep and wriggles closer to Minhyuk.

And it’s odd, really, because there is nothing at all that is particularly extraordinary or interesting about this man snoozing gently a few inches away from him. Somehow, though, he’s transfixed.

Outside, the sky fades like a bruise developing: from reds to deep blues and blacks. Eventually, it’s dark and Minhyuk feels sleep seeping all the way up to his fingertips.

He stands up and stretches his arms back until his shoulders click, taking no steps forward before glancing back at Hoseok curled on the sofa.

What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation?

Minhyuk hops from one foot to the other whilst debating what to do. He leans closer, peering over Hoseok and checking his breathing before Hoseok moves in his sleep. Minhyuk jumps half a foot in the air before marching determinedly over to their room.

He nearly manages to shut the door and fall on the bed, but this is the first day of the rest of his life and he wants to be a good partner and he’s still learning and he wants Hoseok to be happy. So he gathers up a thin blanket and slides over the wooden floorboards in his bare feet.

Taking the utmost care, he tucks the blanket around Hoseok. 

Suddenly, Hoseok wakes up.

“What?” He mumbles sleepily, eyelids flickering for a few seconds.

Minhyuk all but screams.

“Oh, sorry.” Hoseok mumbles, looking vaguely alarmed as he sits up. Minhyuk tries not to notice how his hair is tousled over the thrum of his surprised heart. “Did I surprise you?”

“No, I-” Minhyuk swallows nervously, his mouth inexplicably dry. God damn it, why is he so nervous? He coughs again, and glazes his face over with a small fixed smile. “I was just going to bed. Good night.”

“Oh.” Hoseok catches Minhyuk’s eye for a second and then looks straight away. “Right. Good night.”

“Are you coming?”

“What?” Hoseok asks, eyes flying to Minhyuk’s face immediately.

Minhyuk gets flustered. “No! I didn’t mean it like- I mean- I was just saying, you looked tired and…”

“It’s okay. Minhyuk. It’s okay.” Hoseok cuts him off, and Minhyuk thinks he can almost taste the tang of his name in Hoseok’s mouth floating on the air. He shakes his head. It’s late.

With a small, nervous smile tripping over his face, he nods to Hoseok and makes the short walk to his bedroom. Their bedroom.

He can almost _feel_ the gentle thud of Hoseok’s footsteps behind him, sending flutters through his skin and he wills his pulse to calm the fuck down as he slows his breathing. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s _okay_.

Minhyuk reaches the door first, turning the handle slowly and stopping and staring at the bed, huge and unmissable in the centre of the room. The huge, unmissable _double_ bed.

He swallows. How exactly does he go about this?

“I, uh…” Minhyuk says shakily, turning to Hoseok with a wobbly smile as his fingers go to the first button of his shirt.

Hoseok’s eyes widen in response. “What are you doing?”

Minhyuk blushes. Damn it all, he can’t help it. “I thought…it’s our first night together…I mean, I didn’t know if you…”

“We don’t have to.” Hoseok blurts out, avoiding Minhyuk’s eyes and twisting his fingers together in painful knots. “Do it. Right? They said it’s not necessary for…people like us. So we don’t have to.”

Minhyuk tries to tell himself he’s relieved, but he finds that light, calming feeling peppered with spikes of hurt that Hoseok doesn’t want to sleep with him. Can’t even say the word _sex_ in relation to him.

It’s been a long day, that’s why he’s tired and emotional, nothing to do with this man that he barely knows.

Minhyuk nods, a tiny movement that Hoseok clocks before he walks over to throw the covers off the bed.

“It’s two singles pushed together.” Hoseok says quietly, looking to Minhyuk with faintly pleading eyes. He doesn’t have to say anything more before Minhyuk is moving to his side and they’re pushing the beds apart, to opposite sides of the room.

Minhyuk pushes his right against the wall under the window and flops down on it as Hoseok crosses to his own bed.

He bustles around in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and staring at the mirror as if his reflection has some special wisdom to impart.

Then, he stumbles back into bed and just falls in and out of consciousness for the next few hours to the gentle rhythm of Hoseok’s breathing.

/

Thunder claps outside, the noise roaring across the house like a demon. Minhyuk sits up in bed and lifts the curtain to peer out of the window. He half expects the sky to be ripped in half, a red splash across it like an open gash. Lightning strikes and the whole house lights up like a firework display.

Minhyuk counts the seconds: one, two, thunder booms again. It’s close. Rain starts to lash against the ground outside, pelting it hard and Minhyuk fumbles with the window latch to close it.

Suddenly, he remembers windows all over the house are wide open. Cursing, he slides over the polished floors of the bedroom in his socked feet, rushing to the kitchen and lounge. The windows are cranked open as far as they can go and Minhyuk almost tips over as he puts his head out into the steady jet of rain to pull them closed one after the other. Thunder rumbles again and Minhyuk shivers. He’s never heard anything this loud. It sounds like the world’s ending outside.

Minhyuk turns quickly away from the window, and suddenly Hoseok is right in front of him and their arms are tangling and Minhyuk’s so off-centre and he can’t help but stumble over his own feet.

Hoseok shoots out an arm to steady Minhyuk and Minhyuk thinks they should probably move because the thunder is shocking the sky outside and rain is pouring into their shiny new apartment and he’s only known Hoseok for one day but his gaze drifts to Hoseok’s lips. Big mistake.

Minhyuk doesn’t even notice how close they’ve become until another clap of thunder sounds and Hoseok jumps away from him quickly so that Minhyuk can feel the warm exhale of his breath on his face. He just stares and stares and stares as Hoseok runs to the remaining windows and snaps them shut. Oddly, he’s transfixed by the muscles he can see jumping in Hoseok’s shoulder under the low back line of his sleep t-shirt and the way his biceps strain against the sleeves of his shirt.

Then, all the windows are shut and they’re caged off from the storm roaring outside and Hoseok watches him from across the room. Minhyuk jumps when the lightning cracks especially loud from outside, lighting up the room like an eerie blue x-ray.

“Are you scared of thunder?” Hoseok asks softly, and Minhyuk bristles.

“Wh-what would make you think I’m afraid, it’s not like–”

“I am.” Hoseok cuts him off, tugging on his own hair as a look of fear crosses his face fleetingly. “Since when was height or stature proportional to bravery?”

It must be all those stupid romances he’s been reading, Minhyuk tells himself, as he feels himself tingle just a little. Because, really, he doesn’t know this man at all and it’s really intrigue more than anything else. “Oh.” He says, realising there’s nothing more eloquent that he can get out.

“I’m also scared of spiders, but definitely not dogs,” Hoseok murmurs with a stupid little grin, and Minhyuk narrows his eyes in confusion. “So I’m not scared of everything. I’ve got that covered.”

Minhyuk laughs suddenly, surprised by the sound himself as he turns to completely face Hoseok and tries to stop his eyes lingering on the man’s face. His gaze wanders to the digital clock blinking on the oven, next to the timer.

“It’s late.” He whispers uselessly as Hoseok looks at him and nods slowly. And it’s Minhyuk that breaks the gaze and walks through the storm raging around them and straight to their bedroom.

Minutes later, when the storm is starting to die down and Minhyuk’s eyes are starting to droop, he turns over to watch Hoseok’s sleeping form for a moment. Hoseok’s rolled to the side away from Minhyuk and Minhyuk is almost definitely sure he’s asleep. He doesn’t know why, but he suddenly feels that he needs to speak.

“I’m afraid of thunder too.” He says, lips barely making a sound in the sudden quiet of their room. He has no guarantee that Hoseok’s even heard, but he finds he likes it that way as he lets sleep claim him as his arm slides off the side of the bed and his fingers brush along the smooth floorboards.

/

Minhyuk wakes up with the taste of sleep thick in his mouth and his legs dewed with night sweat. As he took the whole week off, he’s not back till Monday, and he’s enjoying the laziness of this particular winter morning. Light burns in a long thin strip through the gap in the curtains and hits his back as he rolls over to check Hoseok’s bed. It’s neatly made, with his battered boots placed orderly on the bedside table.

Panicking, Minhyuk gets up so quickly his vision spots and his head spins, rushing out over polished floors to the kitchen. He spots a pale yellow note lying on the countertop and picks it up, heart racing.

_Gone to work, back around 6. Call me for any dog related emergencies – H_

There’s a number scribbled underneath, and Minhyuk laughs as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and types it in. His hands hover over the keys as he debates what to save it under, before just settling with Hoseok.

Placing the note back on the counter, he smiles at Hoseok’s shaky handwriting and imagines him spending time trying to decide what to write. A sudden warmth floods his chest and he shakes it away as he moves to grab some cereal from the cupboards.

As he shoves a bowl, spoon and milk down on the countertop, he sees a small spider crawling over the table and starts grinning.

Minhyuk takes a quick video and sends it to Hoseok’s number with the caption **I think I’ve got this one for you** , wondering briefly if this is what flirting feels like.

/

It’s a long day by himself at home with the obligations of preparing the house for habitation weighing down on him, so Minhyuk starts a count-down to 6 almost as soon as the day begins.

It’s 6 hours at midday when he finally gets going on the boxes in the hallway, making trip after trip to the waste disposal outside the building.

It’s 4 hours to go when he sets off to buy supplies, and 2 and a half when he returns with bags and bags of food.

It’s 1 hour, 40 minutes, 30, 20, 10, 5 as he curls on the sofa over a book that he can’t quite focus on. 6 comes and passes, and Minhyuk goes to get some water from the kitchen, telling himself he’s not pacing, he’s just waiting calmly.

At 6:17, keys scratch in the door and it swings open to reveal Hoseok standing there with his hair swept to the side and thin, round glasses perched on his nose. Minhyuk’s heart drops in his stomach for a moment as Hoseok throws a little surprised, sleepy smile at him and he doesn’t realise he’s walking towards him until Hoseok suddenly coughs.

Minhyuk wants to reach out and do something: touch Hoseok, hug him, shake his hand, something to show they’re more than just casual acquaintances. But they aren’t, really, and Minhyuk’s never been brave like that. So he just settles for a small wave, watching with interest as Hoseok’s eyes crinkle up and he smiles back.

Minhyuk leads the way to the kitchen, making Hoseok a cup of sweet, hot green tea as he clears the countertop.

“So, uh.” Minhyuk coughs as he places the mug down in front of Hoseok and slides into a seat a distance away from him. “How was work?”

“Good.” Hoseok murmurs as he takes a small sip from the mug before nodding gratefully at Minhyuk. “They missed me.”

“I-” Minhyuk cuts himself before he blurts out _I missed you_ , cursing himself for this strange and sudden fancy which is turning him all romantic in front of Hoseok. “That’s great.”

Hoseok looks curious as to what Minhyuk was about to say, but drops it when he sees the forbidding look in Minhyuk’s eye. He lets out a small chuckle as he rifles his hand through his hair and Minhyuk’s mouth goes dry. “They found out I went up for Selection, though. This little girl, Eunseo, got so upset that she cried. When I asked her why and tried to comfort her, she started clinging to me and saying she wanted me to wait for her.”

Minhyuk can see it all: the classroom with kids bustling around and Hoseok holding court at the centre, every single child enthralled by his soft voice and kind manner. And that smile. God, that smile. He grins back, a little wistful as he sweeps his eyes across Hoseok’s lightly tanned skin. “Really?”

Hoseok laughs again, the sound as rich and sweet as the tea he’s drinking. “Yeah. And she’s one of those spoilt rich kids, as well. Lovely and all, but anything she wants, daddy will get for her. For a minute, I thought she’d put me on her birthday list!”

And then, like a dam bursting, Hoseok can’t seem to stop talking, recounting this and that story about his day. His voice flows softly as Minhyuk sits back in his chair, rapt, and lets it wash over him like music.

/

Somehow, it gets around to Friday night and Minhyuk makes black bean noodles for dinner and they’re two glasses into the soju. Neither are drunk, but the alcohol has started to light them up, bit by bit.

Minhyuk feels a rush of sudden warmth just like the soju hitting the back of his throat when Hoseok’s eyes curve up at him as he smiles. And suddenly, he feels a little bit brave.

“Twenty questions.” He suggests, dangling a straw from his lips as he peers at Hoseok from behind his fringe. Hoseok’s hair is still swept to the side with gel from earlier, but it’s started to soften at the edges, giving him a glorious rumpled look that makes Minhyuk _want_. Exactly what, he doesn’t know.

Hoseok cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“I know nothing about you and you know even less about me. Twenty questions?”

Hoseok’s lips crook up at the corners as he surveys Minhyuk for a second. “Birth date and age?” He murmurs, folding down two fingers on his right hand.

“November 3rd. I’m 25. You?” Minhyuk says, picking up a note and tallying two lines on it with a smile.

“March 1st. 26. We must be fated. Cats or dogs?”

“Dogs. Main meal or dessert?”

“Anything with ramen or beef in, so main. Rain or sun?”

“Sun. Hobby outside of work? Favourite way of spending time?”

“Dance and music composition. Job you wanted to have when you were young?”

“Singer. Best friend’s name?”

“Son Hyunwoo, even though he’s kind of an idiot. Any younger relations and do you like them?”

“Two nieces and they’re probably my favourite people in my whole family.” Then, because the alcohol is willing him on: “First impression of me?”

“Cute. Like really fucking cute. As in attractive, not adorable. And me?”

“Hot.” Minhyuk catches Hoseok’s eye as he enunciates that one syllable before they both burst into giggles, shifting closer on the sofa. “Approach to Selection?”

“I thought it’s probably something I have to do sooner or later. You?”

“Same.” Minhyuk goes quiet for a second, wanting to find out more and more, to lever the lid off Hoseok’s head and find what’s buzzing with electricity inside there. And maybe it’s just the alcohol talking ( _yeah right, Minhyuk, you’ve had one shot_ , a voice sounds at the back of his mind) but he opens his mouth and says the first thing that pops into his head. “Feelings after half a week of living with me? Feelings right now?”

Hoseok tilts his head to the side as if considering Minhyuk carefully through the strands of hair sitting on his forehead and for a moment, Minhyuk thinks he’s going to avoid the question. “Comfort? Happiness? Calm?”

Minhyuk doesn’t know if he’s more or less comfortable with Hoseok after that answer, and just lets a small oh pass his lips before Hoseok is sitting up determinedly and staring him with a gleam in his eye.

“Age when you lost your virginity?”

Minhyuk splutters and nearly falls off the sofa. “What?!”

“I was joking.” Hoseok says with a small smile, but his voice has a strange ring to it and Minhyuk finds himself wanting–desperately wanting–to tell this near-stranger all his innermost secrets. “Although, if we were following the usual rules, every time we don’t answer, we’ll have to take a shot.”

“You made that up.” Minhyuk exclaims, surprised at himself that he feels more giddy and giggly than angry or breached.

“How do you know?” Hoseok whispers, the air suddenly growing hot around Minhyuk as he stares and stares at this man in front of him. In this moment, Minhyuk is sure more than anything that Hoseok is not drunk, just hiding behind the cover of alcohol and somehow this intrigues him.

So he says something to this man that he’s never said to anyone. “19, and I really hated it.”

Hoseok doesn’t ask why or say sorry or make a sympathetic noise and Minhyuk likes that more than he can say. Especially when Hoseok taps his knee lightly in reassurance and Minhyuk jolts back. It’s the first time they’ve touched since that handshake at Selection.

“Me too. I guess it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Usually, Minhyuk would stop here to wonder. He would think about how he’s sitting in this new apartment with this new man as the new day stumbles in and talking about sex of all things. But tonight, there’s something in the air and he doesn’t want to be the usual Minhyuk.

“It can be.” Minhyuk replies softly, looking at the slanted lines of Hoseok’s cheekbones under the dimmed spotlight of the room. “It really can be wonderful.”

Hoseok shifts forward on the couch until he closes in on Minhyuk who’s frozen like a rabbit in the headlights, waiting for Hoseok’s next move.

“Even something like this.” Hoseok whispers, and Minhyuk wishes he could stop staring at those fucking pink lips, mere inches away from his. “This closeness. It’s supposed to arouse people, yes? But I don’t get that.”

“You don’t?” Minhyuk mumbles, heart sprinting in his chest as he tries tries tries not to look in the depths of Hoseok’s eyes.

“No, I-” Hoseok suddenly stops speaking and flinches back as if receiving an electric shock as Minhyuk flicks his tongue nervously over his lips. He backs up a few more inches, opening his mouth to suck in air as Minhyuk watches him. There’s an exquisite moment, when Minhyuk’s looking at Hoseok and Hoseok’s looking at Minhyuk and the air is melting into magic around them and Minhyuk thinks Hoseok’s about to lean in and…

Jerkily, Hoseok stands up, nearly tripping over the soju bottle sitting at his feet. “I’m tired.” He announces, before shuffling out of the lounge and straight to their bedroom until Minhyuk hears the determined click of the door.

Lolling his head back against the sofa edge, Minhyuk closes his eyes and clenches his fists, wondering if that was only a moment for him. And spends the next twenty-seven minutes researching testosterone on his phone and how lust is in no way synonymous with love.

/

Minhyuk has plans with Changkyun Saturday night. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the standard bar-and-club-if-they’re-up-for-it rigmarole that occurs every month or so.

In the afternoon, Minhyuk calls to check it’s still on.

Changkyun’s voice is muffled as he picks up the phone. “Yeah?”

“Still up for tonight?”

“Tonight…? Oh, shit.”

“Changkyun…”

“No, no, save it, Minhyuk, I’m not gonna stand you up. Just completely forgot, fuck. It’s been pretty busy recently.”

Minhyuk shifts the phone closer to his ear as Changkyun becomes quieter. “Mmm. How are you settling in after Selection?”

There’s a pause down the end of the line. “That’s what I’ve been so busy doing. Or should I say who I’ve been so busy doing.”

“I would smack you right now if you were next to me.”

“I’m just so happy I’m finally getting some.”

“About time too.”

“Ha ha ha, whatever, man. Hey, look, can he come tonight? I know it was supposed to be just us, but it’s going so well, I don’t wanna mess it up.”

Minhyuk sighs. “Sure, whatever. See you at 8.”

“Oh, and Minhyuk? Bring your…guy. Maybe you’ll finally get laid too.”

He hangs up, leaving Minhyuk with the intense desire to throttle his best friend.

Hoseok smiles briefly at him as he walks past to boil the kettle for more tea. It’s some oolong shit this time, and Minhyuk has no idea why he drinks it. Quickly, he follows Hoseok into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as nonchalantly as possible as Hoseok stirs his drink.

“Hoseok?”

Said man jumps about a foot in the air (he doesn’t seem to like loud noises from what Minhyuk’s observed) and spins around, spilling a line of tea on the polished tiled floor. Minhyuk tries not to wince.

“Yes?” Hoseok asks when he’s regained his balance and leans on the countertop opposite Minhyuk to face him directly.

“I, uh. I’m, well Changkyun is, I mean I’m going out for drinks tonight with Changkyun.”

“Changkyun?”

“Colleague, best friend, and all-round idiot.”

“Ah. Enjoy that.” Hoseok says with a warm smile, starting to walk out of the room.

“No, wait!” Minhyuk bursts out, clenching his fists as he steps closer to Hoseok. Hoseok turns around expectantly and the words stick in Minhyuk’s throat. “I, uh, you see, Changkyun is bringing his…his…the guy he chose at Selection and I don’t want to be a third wheel and I like spending time with you and would you like to come? Please?”

Hoseok digests this all with a single blink. “It’s not really my thing, Minhyuk.”

“Please? I don’t want to be lonely, but I don’t mind being lonely with you.” Minhyuk says, before he can really think about what he’s just said.

Hoseok stares. “What?”

“Forget it. I just – it’ll be fun!” Minhyuk blusters, trying to change the subject as rapidly as possible.

Hoseok sighs and nods tentatively. “Fine. But you’re buying my first drink.”

/

Changkyun and Jooheon (which Minhyuk discovers as Changkyun moans it into his neck throughout the night) can’t keep their hands off each other, apparently. Every time Minhyuk glances over disdainfully, watching over the rim of his beer, he can only just about make out a mess of hands and flailing limbs. Nice.

At first, Minhyuk and Hoseok were sitting opposite each other in their corner booth while the couple went at it between them, but Changkyun had an alarming habit of getting ever closer to Minhyuk with each kiss. Now, they’re next to each other, Hoseok’s thighs mere inches from Minhyuk’s as they try to avoid the wildly mating couple.

“This may have been a mistake.” Minhyuk mutters forty minutes in when the most he’s got out of Changkyun is a _hey man can’t talk now_ and Jooheon’s high pitched moans are reaching fever pitch.

Mirth dances in Hoseok’s eyes as he takes another sip of his vodka-cranberry. Today, he’s nursing his drinks, like Minhyuk. Not drinking to get drunk, drinking to savour the taste and the company. If he blocks his ears and focuses on Hoseok, Minhyuk almost feels intimate in this close situation.

Over Hoseok’s broad shoulders, Minhyuk suddenly gets a glimpse of Jooheon’s face as Changkyun sucks on his neck and he feels like he’s invading something private. Whilst the slurping noises and roving hands are hardly appealing, Minhyuk suddenly feels an ache in his chest, an ache of wistfulness for that intimacy and addicting closeness. It’s all too much and he has to look away, focusing on the dirty floor and the clink of glasses at the bar.

“Hey.” Minhyuk suddenly hears Hoseok saying as he feels the other man’s thighs press softly against his. Changkyun is nearly pushing Hoseok off the booth, but Minhyuk doesn’t focus on that. Rather, he hears the aching gentleness in Hoseok’s tone and watches his big, warm hands slide closer to Minhyuk’s. 

“Okay?”

Minhyuk swallows and dares himself to look Hoseok straight in the eyes as he says: “Wanna get out of here?”

/

The park’s pretty much silent at this time of night, the sky an inky blue sheet with a handful of stars spattered over it like yellow paint. Before everything happened, it would be bustling on a night like this, with couples here, there and everywhere.

Now, it’s pretty much dead. Because walks are for falling in love, for romance, not for casual fuck buddies or partnerships that lack any real spark.

Minhyuk tells himself that this is only them taking the long way home, and nothing to do with romance or feelings or the flutters he gets in the pit of his stomach. They walk in silence, the comforting press of the quiet enfolding Minhyuk in an embrace as he watches their shadows twine beside them.

The wind in his hair and the small bit of alcohol in his system loosens up his joints and makes him feel free and unburdened in the night, Hoseok at his side and the moon on his back.

Without warning, he takes off running up the hill looming in front of them, glancing back at Hoseok and laughing at his perplexed expression as he runs faster. Up and up and up, to the top of the hill he runs. He reaches the pinnacle and stops, panting and spreading his arms out to spin round and round, laughing into the night. He feels Hoseok’s presence before he sees him, feels the body heat near his own, hears the swish of Hoseok’s arms through the air.

Minhyuk stops spinning, laughing dizzily at Hoseok as the world spins in circles around him. Hoseok stops himself and goes crashing into Minhyuk, who uses his surprising strength to hold Hoseok still.

The blank look leaves Hoseok’s eyes little by little as the world stays straight for Minhyuk and he feels the smooth skin of Hoseok’s forearms under his palms.

Their faces are close, and Minhyuk licks his lips again, and Hoseok’s lips are somehow tumbling onto his own.

Minhyuk’s eyes widen in surprise for a second until Hoseok deepens the kiss, arms trailing up Minhyuk’s arms and across to the small of his back. Minhyuk moves closer and closer to Hoseok, going up on his tiptoes and draping his arms around Hoseok’s neck.

Before they tip over and fall straight down the hill.

Shock turns to breathless laughter quickly as Minhyuk tumbles headfirst down the hill, gathering grass like a second skin until he reaches the bottom and falls on Hoseok’s chest.

There’s a moment of silence while they both absorb the shock and check for injuries, before they burst into laughter again, breathing heavily. Minhyuk rolls off Hoseok and lies next to him, glancing at the stars and wanting more than anything to grab Hoseok’s hand in his.

Hoseok turns to Minhyuk and Minhyuk closes his eyes for another kiss before Hoseok whispers in his ear. “Race you.”

Minhyuk opens his eyes. “What?”

But Hoseok’s already staggering to his feet and running up the hill and hell, Minhyuk’s not going to be beaten.

“Lee Hoseok!” He yells as he speeds up, passing Hoseok at the crest of the hill and running down the other side as Hoseok follows him closely.

They run most of the rest of the way home, only stopping when their breaths become too heavy and the night gets too hot.

Eventually, they’re walking into their apartment, throwing their stuff down on the countertop and walking to their bedroom. It’s only when Minhyuk is dropping off to sleep that he realises they never mentioned their kiss at all.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout 2 . my WIFE..my babeygirl,,my oppa . for reading thsi and helping me..if u see this i love u shannon  
> also i opened a twt @jooheonies_ ..i hav . ....nto posted ther yet pweas talk 2 me !! if u wanna !!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> kudos and comments much appreciated!!


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